


Everybody Comes to Quark's

by shinealightonme



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dominion War, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, Non-heroic character saves the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: The first fifty-two hours after Starfleet withdraws from Deep Space Nine are a shaking, sweaty terror.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jazzypizzaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/gifts).



The first fifty-two hours after Starfleet withdraws from Deep Space Nine are a shaking, sweaty terror.

Not that Jake admits that. He thinks he plays it pretty cool; keeps the tough war correspondent facade up, even when Rom keeps shooting him those sad, open mouthed glances. Even when Major Kira sees him and doesn't have the time to stop and say anything, just shakes her head, resigned.

Jake doesn't sleep that first night, not unless you count drifting off a frustrating hour before the computer was set to wake him up. He has an upsetting dream he can't remember except that, for some reason, Kukalaka featured in it heavily.

The second day is a lot like the first, except he's exhausted from the get go, and a lot less sure that he made the right call.

But after the second day there are all these moments that are weirdly...normal.

It shouldn't be normal, already, to walk into the Replimat and find it full of Cardassians in military uniform. But for a second, Jake's eyes gloss over them and just see a crowd of hungry people, chatting and eating and getting ready to start their day.

Then he sees them, really sees them.

He can't get out of the Replimat fast enough.

He isn't thinking about where he's going, so it's not surprising that sheer habit guides him to the door of Quark's bar.

It's also not surprising that he runs into someone.

"Well, would you look at this!" a familiar voice says, and with a creeping sense of horror Jake takes in Gul Dukat, mere inches in front of him, and that Vorta, Weyoun, on his heels.

Jake should have done those agility drills that Nog was always nagging him about; by the time his brain makes the conscious decision to run away, Dukat has clapped a hand on his shoulder, trapping him. The weight of it sinks through Jake, till he feels like it's going to push him straight through the floor.

"If it isn't Jake Sisko!" Gul Dukat is saying, utterly delighted. It's not like Jake had ever liked Dukat before, but he's starting to understand in a visceral way how his father feels. "I had heard that you'd stowed away after the Federation pulled out, but you know, I hadn't believed it. I see I owe some of my officers an apology."

He grins, inviting Jake to share in the good-natured misunderstanding.

Jake doesn't smile. He's too busy trying to figure out how a mature, professional war correspondent would say _get your hand off me, you creep_.

If Dukat is put out at his lack of reaction, he doesn't show it. He must be used to stone-faced Siskos rebuffing his attempts at friendship.

"You know, Jake," Dukat continues, leaning in and lowering his voice like he's preparing to share some sage advice. "Cardassians prize initiative and bravery in our children. But foremost of all is obedience. Why, if my son had run off alone, against evacuation orders, I would be very displeased. But I suppose your father must feel...differently."

 _Good thing I'm not your son,_ Jake thinks.

"Oh, are you on speaking terms with your son again?" Jake asks Dukat, as sincerely as he can manage. He manages to find a smile after all. "I'm glad to hear that."

Dukat's eyes narrow.

Too bad. He's the one who brought family into it.

"Fascinating as this is, Dukat." Weyoun sounds as far from fascinated as a sentient creature could be. "I do believe it's time we moved on to Ops. We have such a lot of work to do."

Jake would be grateful for the distraction, except that Weyoun fixes him with a watery-eyed stare that somehow still manages to turn Jake inside out. And, it doesn't manage to distract Dukat at all. If anything, Dukat grips Jake's shoulder harder.

"You know, Weyoun, I think you and Jake should get to know each other," Dukat says. "Why don't you come with us, Jake?"

"Can't," Jake says, and sets his sights on the first thing he can think of for an excuse. The door to Quark's bar is just in reach so he knocks on it, loudly and repeatedly. "Maybe another time."

Quark snatches the door open just wide enough for him to stick his head out and glare at them. "What? What is it? Don't you know what time it is? We're closed."

"I left a PADD in here yesterday," Jake says, twisting to shake off Dukat and slip past Quark.

"Fine," Quark grumbles. "Come in and get it, I'm not running a storage locker here."

"Jake -- " Dukat starts.

"Let's not waste any more time, Dukat," Weyoun says, and that's the last that Jake hears of it as Quark shuts the door behind him.

Jake doesn't move any further into the bar, waiting to see if Dukat moves on.

After a moment, he does.

Jake exhales.

"I thought writers were supposed to be creative," Quark says. "If you're trying to make up an alibi you need to do better than 'I was in Quark's all night,' especially since we both know that you weren't."

"I don't need an alibi," Jake says.

"Good," Quark says. "Because I haven't been properly compensated to lie to a gul for you. That's a special circumstance, very hefty prices."

"I don't need an alibi," Jake snaps again. He feels very tired again. "I'll get out of your hair soon." And yet, he doesn't feel like leaving yet. "Can I use your replicator?"

"We aren't open," Quark says. He grabs two dirty glasses off the bar. Jake realizes, taking a step away from the door, that the bar is a mess. There's a lot more than two dirty glasses, and plates of half-consumed food on several of the tables. More than one chair is lying on its side. Something that glitters like broken glass has been swept up into one corner.

"What happened here?" Jake asks. It's not exactly a probing investigative question, but he used up his diplomacy for the day on Dukat.

Quark sets the glasses down harder than necessary. There's a loud _clunk_. "In case you hadn't heard, the Dominion took over the station."

"Yeah, I got that," Jake says drily. "I didn't realize your bar was such a decisive battlefield."

"Laugh all you want, but the bar is important. Strategic."

Jake snorts. Quark _had_ told him to laugh.

Quark draws himself up, but ruins it by wiggling his shoulders. He looks precisely like the time that he told Jake and Nog off for sneaking synthehol as kids: _If you're going to break the rules, don't get caught!_

"How is a bar strategic?" Jake asks.

"Occupiers need to blow off steam, just like anyone else. More so," Quark said. "The last two nights, they've been celebrating, and it's been harmless enough. But it's going to get ugly. Either their luck will change and they'll need somewhere to vent -- and someone to take it out on. Or they'll keep being successful and they'll forget where the boundaries are."

The little good humor that Jake had scrounged up leaves him. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Quark had been through this before. He'd lived through the Cardassian Occupation. Jake just had stories.

"You really think it'll get worse?" Jake asks.

"Get _worse_?" Quark demands. "Jake, it hasn't gotten _bad_ yet. What are you even doing here?"

"I just wanted to get away from Dukat," Jake mumbles, but he knows that's not what Quark means.

"Look, I've got some friends coming to the station tomorrow night," Quark says. "Well -- friends is a strong word. They won't hurt you if you pay them enough, anyway. And I can't imagine Odo would investigate smuggling too hard if what I was smuggling off the station was _you_. I could -- "

"Forget it," Jake says. "I'm not leaving." He looks over to the door, but there's no sign of anyone outside. "I'll get out of your way now."

Quark clears his throat. "You know," and Jake recognizes that tone of voice; that's the concession, the _my bluff didn't work_ , the _let's reopen negotiations_. "My idiot brother was tampering with the replicator yesterday. He probably broke it. I could use a taste tester, just to see if it can even still make anything edible."

Jake rolls his eyes at the transparency of this. Quark used to be sneakier; or maybe Jake had just been more naive.

But transparent or not, Jake doesn't want to go outside.

"Well, if you need some help," Jake says, and takes a seat at the bar.

-

The next morning Jake heads straight for the bar, rather than the Replimat.

"I'm not running a shelter for stray humans," Quark complains, but he'd opened the door as soon as Jake had knocked, like he'd been waiting for it.

"I thought you said all people were welcome in your bar," Jake says. He's got his PADD with him today. The last three days, his goal had just been survival: not letting his heart beat his way out of his chest; not letting himself admit that he'd made a horrible mistake; not thinking about his father.

Today, he was determined to write something, even if it was just a hundred words describing Quark's opulent jacket.

"All _paying customers_ ," Quark corrects him, but barks Jake's order at the replicator before Jake can even ask him.

"What kind of paying customers are you expecting when the bar looks like this?" Jake sweeps a hand at the general mess that's once again accumulated in every corner of the room. It shouldn't be the most surprising thing about a world in which Dukat sits in Benjamin Sisko's chair, but somehow it is. There are a lot of criticisms one could make of Quark, but "doesn't take care of his property" and "poor work ethic" aren't among them. Even on nights when the bar had been its rowdiest, Quark had always gotten the place cleaned thoroughly by morning. "I don't know if you have any animals on Ferenginar that live in the muck, by my grandfather would say that this place looks like a pig sty."

"Very funny," Quark grumbles. "You try running a bar in an occupation when your waitstaff leaves you."

"Why'd your waitstaff leave?" Jake asks. He hadn't realized it had gotten that bad; he hadn't been by the last few nights. The bar is too full of Cardassians and memories, at night.

"They wanted a _raise_ ," Quark says. "You know how much a waiter expects to get paid in a war zone? I'm not made of latinum."

"Good thing you aren't," Jake says. "You'd have to choose between making profit or having limbs."

"Easy choice," Quark tells him. "I'd just have to look at you for an example. 'Quark,' I'd say to myself. 'Do you want to turn out like that human? All limb and no latinum?'"

"Very funny."

-

"I heard this was the place to find you," Kira says, dropping to a seat at the stool next to Jake.

It's been seven days since the Federation pulled out of Deep Space Nine. If Jake had to guess, he'd say it's also been seven days since Kira got any sleep.

It's been five days since Jake started coming to Quark's for breakfast. Every morning, Quark complains about the strain on his replicators from feeding six feet of foolish human who didn't have the sense to stop growing ten inches sooner. Every morning, Quark feeds him anyway, and Jake quietly helps right whatever furniture is still on its side and clean whatever dishes are still dirty.

It shouldn't be surprising, then, that Kira knows where he eats breakfast. It's just station gossip.

It's not like people are watching Jake.

He tells himself that, a few times.

"I try to be easy to find," he tells himself. "I'm available twenty-six hours a day for anyone that wants to give an interview on the record for the Federation News Service."

"Try again," Kira says.

"I'm also available twenty-six hours a day for old friends," Jake amends.

Kira sighs. She doesn't look cheered up by this, at all.

"Here," she says, clunking a PADD down on the bar surface. "For you, courtesy of the Bajoran Provisional Government."

"Does First Minister Shakaar want to give a statement about the Dominion?" Jake doesn't think that's likely, per se, but his father always told him to keep hope alive, and hey: First Minister Shakaar wants to give a statement is the absolute best case scenario.

Kai Winn wants an in person interview is probably the _worst_ case scenario, so Jake's not disappointed when he sees the PADD is just some kind of bland decree issued by the Vedek Assembly, co-signed by the First Minister's Office.

Jake's pretty good with words, but it takes him a second to pick through the deliberately obtuse legalese all government documents are written in to realize the document is about -- him.

"The Vedek Assembly and the Bajoran Government wanted to make it clear that they expect the son of the Emissary to be treated with respect by their friends," Kira's face puckers like she'd just bitten into a lemon, "among the Dominion."

"Somehow I doubt the Kai came up with this all on her own," Jake says. He's still staring at the PADD. It's easier than looking at Kira.

"Yeah, well." Kira clear her throat. "In times like these, you secure the things -- the people -- that you can, while you can."

Quark puts a raktajino down in front of Kira, without even a quip about filing for reimbursement from the Bajoran Provisional Government.

Jake's not surprised. Quark has a weakness for tough women in general, and Major Kira in particular.

"You can worry about securing someone else, now," Jake says. "I'm going to be fine. I've got Quark looking out for me, remember?"

"In that case you need even more help than the Prophets could supply."

"Major!" Quark presses a hand flat against his chest, the very picture of offense. "I'll have you know that I treat Jake as though he were a part of my family."

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Kira asks. "I've seen how you treat your family."

"Isn't there a Rule of Acquisition about exploiting family members?" Jake asks, just to stir up trouble.

Quark turns his nose up at the pair of them. "Any resource that you want to exploit for longer than a day is a resource you have to protect, and nurture. But I can see it's no use trying to make you two barbarians appreciate the intricacies of Ferengi culture."

Kira actually smiles at that. Jake peeks at her from the corner of his eye. Her smile is too delicate and too radiant to look directly at.

Quark 'hmph's and turns away, and Jake wonders if he isn't trying in his own way to let Kira have her moment of peace.

-

It's the afternoon before Jake sees Quark again.

His days are a weird mixture of too much and too little to do, at the same time. The station's not empty of civilians, exactly, but a lot of the ones who are around are keeping a low profile, either to keep out of trouble with the Dominion or because they're the kind of people (like Quark's smuggler friends) who keep a low profile by default.

Which means if your profession is "talking to people", you have to spend a lot of time just trying to find anyone to talk to, and even longer convincing them to talk to you, and very little time actually talking.

Jake's cutting through the Promenade that afternoon, chasing down something. He what he hopes is something. There's been a weird energy to the station for the last few hours. It might just be paranoia, or it might just be the "getting bad" that Quark had warned him about. But it might mean there's a real, concrete story.

So he's right in the middle of his now-familiar directionless hunting when Quark steps out of the shadows and grabs his arm.

Jake jumps.

It's not exactly his fault. Humans used to tell stories about demons with faces like that stepping out of the shadows and grabbing you.

"Jake! There you are. Here, come into the bar." Quark drags at Jake's arm, but Jake's got the advantage when it comes to inertia. He doesn't move, and Quark gets pulled back to him.

"I'm in the middle of something," he says. "Something _important,_ " because maybe the universe rewards hope. "I can't come bus your tables."

Quark waves dismissively at Jake with his free hand. "I don't need a waiter right now! I -- have a guest who wants to play dom-jat, only he needs someone to play with."

That tugs at Jake's heart strings, a little. But he's a serious reporter now. He's on the job.

"Later, Quark."

"Listen!" Quark says, and sighs. "Look, I think you should come hang out around the bar."

Jake starts to argue again, but a thought occurs to him. "You know what's going on right now, don't you?"

Quark really doesn't have the poker face he thinks he does.

"Come on, you've got to tell me!"

Quark twitches, like he's trying to look in all directions around him at once. It's a look that Jake usually associates with Odo being nearby; but the station is a different place than it was a week ago. It could mean anything.

"Inside the bar," Quark says, and this time when he pulls on Jake's arm, Jake follows.

Jake sits on the nearest bar stool that isn't occupied by Morn. "Spit it out, Quark." He wants to sound stern, but he's pretty sure it comes out petulant.

"Let me get you a drink first," Quark says. "On the house, even!"

"Why are you trying to bribe me?"

"Bribes, who said anything about bribes? Maybe I just want you to write about what a friendly, welcoming place Quark's Bar is, for all of your readers..."

Jake doesn't, yet, have any readers. So far he hasn't heard back from the Federation News Service about any of the stories he's sent. But none of them have broken any news, they've mostly been color pieces about life in an occupation. If he could dig up some piece of real news that no one's heard yet, then maybe he'd have readers.

"I'm out of here," Jake says, standing up.

"Wait!" Quark actually looks _afraid_ , and Jake's not sure what he's supposed to do about that.

Except, maybe, to sit back down. Which he does.

"Fine," Jake says. "Raktajino, double strength."

"At this time of the day?" Quark asks, but Jake just stares him down, until he mutters, "fine, fine," and gets the drink from the replicator.

"So what's going on?" Jake asks.

Quark dithers. "You hear things, when you're a bartender," he starts. "Which, if what you really want to do is just talk to people all day, may I point out, bartending is a noble profession -- "

"I'm not going to wait tables for you," Jake interrupts.

"Fine, have it your way. Enjoy giving your labor away for free to the Federation." Jake's not sure which part of that offends Quark more; that he's working for nothing or that he's working for nothing for someone besides Quark. "Just, for tonight, I think you should stick around here. In the bar."

Jake frowns. "Why? There's nothing going on here."

"The buzz of capitalism is going on here," Quark retorts.

"The buzz of capitalism is not news. Whatever's going on out there, _that's_ news."

"It's not good news," Quark says. "Look, one of the Cardassians set off a booby trap in the cargo bays. Something left behind during the evacuation, apparently."

"What?" Jake sits jolt upright. "That's incredible!"

Quark waves at him to sit back down, and leans way in so that Jake pretty much has to scrunch down to hear him at all. " _That_ means that it's a very bad time to be Federation. Apparently there's more than one glinn in the infirmary right now."

"Really?" It's not far to the infirmary. Jake wonders if he ought to feign an injury of some sort. He can't imagine they'd be too happy to just let him in and ask questions, but if he gets in as a patient he could still overhear something useful.

"But that's no reason for you to go sniffing around," Quark finishes.

"No reason? Quark, this is news. This is a story."

"What's news about it?" Quark demands. "Some people hurt some other people that they're at war with. That's not news. Rom could come up with that. The only story here is that when Cardassians are wronged, they like to get even. And they're not too picky about who they get."

"No one's going to get even with me," Jake says. "I'm harmless! Besides, I'm the son of the Emissary."

"You're a human. That's not a very popular thing to be around here at the moment. You shouldn't go pestering anyone," Quark holds up a hand to stave off Jake's next interruption. "Just for tonight, at least. I'd feel better if you stuck around here where I can keep an eye on you." Quark clears his throat. "I mean, where there's lots of witnesses around and no one will try anything."

Jake finds that there's a lump in his throat, too big for him to talk around.

"Besides!" Quark continues, talking faster and faster like he's trying to put distance between himself and any evidence of his decency. "Word on the station is that a party's coming up from Bajor at some point. Could be tonight. They're bound to come to the bar at some point. Everybody does. You could interview them! The Federation News Service would like that more than they would like their only correspondent on DS9 to get in trouble."

"Yeah, okay," Jake says.

"Wait, really?" Quark asks. "No getting out of it! A deal is a deal."

"Yeah, really," Jake says. "And I'll have another one of those raktajinos, on the house."

Quark shakes his head in disgust, but doesn't object.

-

The Bajoran diplomatic party doesn't arrive that night, though Jake hears from several people that their transport is expected tomorrow -- if it isn't deterred by the day's events.

The day's events are a popular topic of conversation among most of the bar's patrons that night, though conversation has a way of trailing off when Jake wanders too near. He'd like to think that his reputation as a canny reporter proceeds him, but probably Quark is right: this isn't a popular day for Federation members.

He gives up on making any headway with any of the Cardassians, at least for tonight, and settles on striking up a game of dom-jot with a couple of Nausicaans. They're about as chatty as any other Nausicaan Jake's ever met -- which is to say, not very -- but he finds that by easing them into conversation gradually he can get them to open up about how the station's changing hands has affected their business.

He also comes away from the game several strips of latinum richer.

"That went well," Jake tells Quark, as he goes to refresh his drink. Cardassian sunrise, this time; it feels less conspicuous than any of his usual alternatives.

"I'll say," Quark tells him. "I've never been so proud of you. Why, I think I was tearing up for a while."

"You think it was a good interview too?" Jake asks.

"Interview, who cares? I mean the profit!" Quark gives him an admiring look. "Maybe you're not all limbs and no latinum after all."

"Thanks," Jake says. "I can always count on you to know what matters."

He turns around with his drink, only to find that he's face to face with a Cardassian who had come up behind him.

On the plus side, at least it isn't Gul Dukat this time.

On the down side...

"Starfleet scum." The Cardassian snarls. Shoves him, hard.

Jake drops his drink.

The glass shatters against the floor, the only sound that can be heard in the entire bar.

"I'm not in Starfleet," Jake says, as calm as he can. He can't hear himself well over his heart pounding in his ears. "I'm a civilian."

The Cardassian doesn't seem to hear him. He's drunk, drunk enough that he's reeling a bit from the force of his own shove.

Which doesn't stop him from reaching out and shoving Jake again.

Jake stumbles, backwards, only the bar against his back stopping him from falling onto his ass.

"Federation bastard," the Cardassian says, and that's not something Jake can deny. "You put three of my friends in the infirmary," and that's something he can.

"I know that some of your people were hurt today. I wish that things hadn't happened like this." Which is true. Jake wishes no one had to get hurt. Jake wishes that the Cardassians had never come here. "If you want to talk about the incident -- "

The third shove sends Jake falling over after all. He lands on one hand rather than his face, which would be more of a comfort if his hand hadn't landed in the broken glass.

The Cardassian's friends are trying to hold him back now, hissing low comments at him about "the Bajorans" and "Gul Dukat".

"I don't give a damn about Bajor," the Cardassian says. "We're going to gut them and then we're going to come for your precious Earth."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Jake says. He's lost his taste for playing neutral, and he regrets it almost instantly, when the Cardassian lifts a foot for a kick that's aimed straight at his face.

Instead, a pair of gaudily dressed legs steps in his way. "Gentlemen, please," Quark says, fussy and disappointed like he's dealing with a customer who wants a free refill. "This is a respectable place of business! I simply can't let anything happen here that would besmirch the fine name of Quark's Bar, Grill, Gaming House, and Holosuite Arcade!"

He's pitched his voice high, and loud, for the whole bar to hear; not that that was really necessary given the rapt silence that had preceded him.

But it works. Someone calls out, "I didn't know it was possible to make your reputation any worse!" and there's a round of laughter and jeering from the onlookers.

The tension breaks, suddenly and completely. The drunken Cardassian's friends hustle him out of the bar. Quark signals Rom to take over behind the bar, before steering Jake for the back room.

"That could have gone better," Jake mutters, picking at a shard of glass in his palm.

Quark rummages through the back room clutter, emerging with a med kit. "It should have gone a lot worse."

"Oh, great, thanks. It's so good to know that I've got your support," Jake says sarcastically.

Quark looks up from the dermal regenerator he's running over Jake's hand. "I'm not saying I like it. I'm saying it's a _fact_. You're a human on a station that hates humans. That is actively at war with humans."

"Not with me," Jake says. "I'm not military. I've never even won an arm wrestling match in my life."

"That's not going to matter if someone's drunk and hurt and pissed off enough. Occupations are no place for logic, whatever the Vulcans say about it."

Jake doesn't have anything to say to that.

"You know, I could still get you off the station any time you like."

Jake shrugs. "But then who would keep you company during breakfast?"

Quark scoffs, "Like I need some human to talk my ears off and clutter up my bar."

-

Quark doesn't mention Jake leaving the station again, after that.

Jake starts coming around the bar at night, in addition to getting his breakfast there. It happens naturally enough. The Bajoran delegation does arrive the next day, and does turn up in Quark's, and Jake still wants to interview them. He doesn't get far; they're tight-lipped and grim, looking more fit for a funeral than a bar, grill, gaming house, and holosuite arcade.

And then it just keeps happening. When Jake gets a prickle on the back of his neck, like too many eyes are watching him; or when he gets a tight knot in his stomach, hearing the Dominion-Cardassian troops celebrating some new victory; or when he just can't handle the thought of his father out there, somewhere on the Defiant, a lifetime away -- then he comes to Quark's.

He's spending a lot of time at Quark's, these days.

And if Quark always has a drink ready for him, and a table somewhere out of view of most of the bar. If there always seems to be one of Quark's bigger, surlier associates at a table nearby.

Well, if that were the case, Jake wouldn't want to say anything that would ruin Quark's reputation as a ruthless business man. Even if it were true.

-

"It's amazing," Quark tells freighter captains, skeptical glinns, drunken merchants, anyone whose custom he's trying to lock down, "how many of my customers think of Quark's as a second home."

Jake never comments, but he always raises his glass.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 5 of the [Rarepair Gre'thor](http://trek-rarepair-swap.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, for jazzypizzaz, who wanted some platonic Quark and Jake.
> 
> Title is based on Everybody Comes to Rick's, the play that Casablanca was based on. Given the setting of this during an occupation, and given that Quark is basically Humphrey Bogart in Profit and Loss, it felt appropriate.
> 
> I wish that we'd gotten to see more of what transpired during the three months between seasons 5 and 6. In particular I think it's a little naive of Jake to assume that he'd be safe because he's the Emissary's son -- but then, naive Jake getting a rude awakening is basically my favorite thing.
> 
> If you like this fic, you can [reblog it on tumblr](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/153701947805/everybody-comes-to-quarks-shinealightonme).


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